


The Long Dance

by acogna



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Prompt Fic, Requests, and here we have Exhibit A: the hodgepodge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-03-14 01:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acogna/pseuds/acogna
Summary: DCEU BatCat drabbles. Requests can be made in the comments or on mywriting tumblr.





	1. Friends

**Author's Note:**

> We begin with the DCEU BatCat drabbles! Feel free to ask for prompts in the comments below on on Tumblr what you would like this couple to do in the DCEU, and it could be a simple word or a scene you would like to see these two in. 
> 
> I will paste your entire comment in the author note before each chapter together with your request, so feel free to ask for anything under the sun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce introduces his not-girlfriend to his new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have the initial one for now, which I actually considered making the epilogue of _Lonely is the Knight,_ which is (kind of) the prequel to this. You can go ahead and read it if you haven’t already!

The elevator comes to a sudden stop once it reaches the underground; he releases a sigh as he undoes the buttons of his blazer. Even going down the stairs he could hear the chatter in the laboratory, and before he knows it, something like a flash of lighting greets him once he’s at the second landing, with a young man waving hello right in front of his face.

“Took you long enough,” he says, crackles of lighting still dancing around his CCPD hoodie.

“Sorry the rest of us are too slow,” Bruce returns.

Barry grins and lightning envelops him again, an in a—dare he even think about it—flash, he’s back downstairs in the laboratory. The full picture comes into view once Bruce reaches them: around a strategy table in the middle of the room are his fellow League members.

Arthur’s leaning on the desk with so much force Bruce prays it won’t break, with his hair still slightly damp and his beard still dripping with water. Victor pulls the hood of his jacket down, the lights of the cave reflecting off the metal panels of his face. At the speed of light, Barry appears next to the cyborg, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Diana still looks like quite the goddess, even with her hair tied in a simple ponytail she sported on her flight from Paris to Gotham. Clark, still in his awful plaid shirt and denim jeans from work, pushes his glasses up higher up his nose as he turns his head to the new presence in the room.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Bruce introduces himself, peeling off his blazer from his shoulders carefully.

“We all came as soon as we heard,” Clark says.

“If what you told us is as bad as we think it is,” Diana steps forward, “then it’s certainly a cause for alarm.”

Bruce gives it a moment of pause. “I wouldn’t consider it a cause for alarm just yet. More like a warning telling us to keep our eyes peeled.” He puts his hands on the table, leaning into it. “Victor, show them.”

Victor extends his steel hands outward, and a flurry of digital information dances in the space between his fingers, matrixes of code forming images and videos of the Parademons flying across the red skies of the Russian village from their battle not too long ago, along with various photographs of Steppenwolf rallying them to arms.

“I’ve gathered all the data I could on the biology of these things,” Victor explains. “Some of them are human, animal, born from other Parademons, but others seem to have been…born naturally, if that’s how they’re even created.”

“He sent me their genetic configuration,” Bruce continues, walking towards a close monitor. “Alfred and I tried to reverse engineer it through the computer, see if it lead somewhere. And the thing is—” here Bruce hits a couple of keys on the screen effortlessly, and on the table, a hologram of a triple helix DNA appears, with labels filling in the gaps, “their biological makeup makes it impossible for them to have been born naturally. There are chemicals in their bloodstreams that make it dangerous for them to have ever been grown.”

“So what does that mean?” Arthur frowns, squinting at the scientific labels on the DNA.

Bruce pockets his hands in his slacks. “It means that the only way they could have been created is through a lab.”

“Though it’s just a theory,” Victor dismisses, collapsing the data in his hands.

Bruce paces in the direction of the hologram. “What makes it interesting is that their DNA structure doesn’t match up with that of Steppenwolf, meaning they aren’t from the same race.”

Barry’s eyes light up. “Wait, so that means Steppenwolf enslaved an entire race of flying human-sized acid bugs?”

“Maybe,” Bruce shrugs. “But I’m guessing that since Parademons can only be formed from biology science labs, someone’s been creating these things for him.”

“One of his helpers, then?” Clark says.

“Or a master,” Diana crosses her arms. “My mother used to speak to me about tales of Steppenwolf’s wrath upon this world, but I recall that it was said he used to serve another being, one much more powerful than him.”

Barry hisses in a breath. “Okay, so there’s a bigger baddie coming.”

“It’s all just speculation, at this point,” Bruce clarifies, seeing the fear rise in his comrades’ eyes. “But it won’t help us to withhold this kind of information when it could be important in discovering who Steppenwolf could have been helping. Well, if he _was_ helping anyo—”

“Bruce?”

It’s a new voice from upstairs. Feminine, familiar, feline.

The Bat freezes as everyone exchanges curious glances.

“Bruce?” the voice begins to descend on the stairwell. “Are you down here?”

“You letting visitors into the cave?” Clark teases.

“Not now, Clark,” Bruce shuts his eyes and prays that it’s his paranoid imagination tricking him into making another contingency plan.

There are footsteps clicking towards him, and he can practically feel the shock of the League as they look right behind at the approaching figure.

“I got the files from Arkham you asked me about,” the newcomer continues. “Turns out in all the years I’ve been gone, the GCPD’s security is still as easy to trespass as ever. I’d suspected by now that Gordo— _hey,_ there.”

The footsteps stop. Bruce turns his head around to see Selina standing right at the door, holding numerous folders in one hand and a hard drive in the other, her shock mirrored perfectly with that of the League. The fact that Bruce is positioned in the middle and can only look at one at a time makes it worse.

“So…this is them, huh?” Selina’s shock leaves and is replaced with a wide grin, gesturing towards the group. “Your little super friend squad.”

“Please don’t call them that,” Bruce huffs.

In less than a second, a lightning bolt breaks through the air, and Barry’s suddenly right next to her. She seems to jump a little when he appeared, but it doesn’t stop him from scrutinizing every single bit of her movements.

“Woah, kid!” she exclaims. “Give me a warning next time.”

“Wait a second…” Barry narrows his eyes, then snaps with both his fingers in realization. “Are you Bruce’s girlfriend?”

Her eyes turn sly, her expression even more so. “Oh, honey, I’m much _more_ than his girlfriend.”

Barry gasps and turns to Bruce. “You’re married? You never told me you were married!”

“I’m not—” Bruce can’t even finish the sentence before groaning in frustration. “Look, just stop for a second, okay?”

“Uh…Wayne?” Arthur calls out behind him. “You mind…I don’t know, introducing us to your not-girlfriend over here?”

Barry flashes back and re-joins the group. Clark has this triumphant face that Bruce wants to wipe clean off the planet.

“Alright,” Bruce sighs, placing himself next to her as he puts a hand on her shoulder. “So this is Arthur, Victor, Barry, Clark, and Diana. Everyone, this is Selina Kyle, my—” a pause, and he realizes there really is no word for it, “for the lack of a better term—girlfriend.”

The League takes a moment to digest that.

“Let me get this straight, lady,” Victor frowns. “So you know about this cave, and know about him dressing up like a bat to go punch criminals in the face every night…and you _still_ stick around?”

Selina shrugs. “He’s annoying sometimes, but it takes some getting used to.”

“She’s definitely more interesting than all your socialite flings over the years,” Diana squints her eyes. “Kyle, right? You’re the one who’s stolen those Delacroix works from me in the past years?”

Selina offers an apologetic smile. “I gave them back, didn’t I?”

Diana deadpans. “If leaving them in some warehouse on the outskirts of Paris is considered giving them back.”

Selina’s face falls. “Oh, right.”

“And you told me you didn’t have romantic problems,” Clark crosses his arms, smirking triumphantly. “With how big the scoop on Jezebel Jet was, I’m surprised _The Daily Planet_ didn’t get wind of this sooner.”

“We’ve been rather secretive about it,” Bruce answers reluctantly, tightening his lips into a thin line.

“Honest question,” Arthur raises his palm, looking at her. “Is he good in bed?”

Selina grins. “Oh, actually, he’s _very—”_

 _“Alright,_ that’s enough,” Bruce interrupts, grabbing Selina by the shoulder and turning to her. “Can I talk with you? Privately?”

“Uh, sure,” Selina says with genuine confusion.

He pulls her into the corner of the room as she waves at the other League members, with all of them waving back awkwardly at her. It’s probably unintentional, but he corners her, the cold walls of the cave’s laboratory against her back, as he stares her down.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Bruce asks, his voice low.

She shrugs. “Last time I checked, _you_ were the one who gave me the grand tour of this place. I thought I was allowed to enter without your permission…you know, if ever I needed anything important? If Alfred ever needed help? And besides,” she holds up the files and the hard drive in front of their faces, “this was a special request.”

He gently takes them from her hands. “Thanks, Selina.”

She studies his eyes as she crosses her arms, a smile growing on her face. “I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?”

He runs a hand through his graying hair. “Selina, you’re not—”

“I am. We _both_ know I am.” She tilts her head curiously. “Come on, no harm in saying it. ‘Selina, please stop embarrassing me in front of my super friends.’”

He lets another sigh go. “Selina, please stop embarrassing me in front of the Justice League.”

“Close enough. Still, though…” and she glances at the League for a split second, and they all avert their eyes from the couple to literally anything else in the room, “I should be thanking them.”

“For what?”

“They started it. They taught you to let people in again.”

“Hm.”

Taking a step towards him, she uses a hand to trace his jawline.

“They’re watching us,” he whispers.

“I know,” she replies, then places a quick and chaste kiss on his lips. “I’ll come back later, okay?"

“Mm,” he hums, and she leaves the corner.

“Well,” she announces to the League, who were all busy in most likely a gossip convention, “nice meeting you all, but I’ve got better things to do with my time than stay here and mess around with Bruce’s little clique.” She looks back at him and as he crosses his arms, she smiles. “Hopefully he’s been playing nice.”

Bruce locks eyes with her, and the corners of his lips turn upward.

From out of his line of sight, Barry fakes gagging.

“See you all soon,” Selina walks away, waving a hand.

She doesn’t even look back. All of the eyes in the room follow her as she struts out the door and up the staircase, soon out of their line of sight.

The entire League is quiet, the beeping of the coded hologram in front of them being the only sound echoing throughout the cave, as they all watch Bruce carefully. He returns their gaze, moving towards the table as he turns off the labelled DNA display, and the image disappears into the surface.

“So,” he says, “any questions?”

There’s silence, until Barry raises his hand. Bruce points at him.

“Uh…” Barry’s eyes dart around the room. “So, when both of you _do_ get married, can you name your first kid after me?”

Bruce shoots him a look. He feels like the entire League is supressing a huge bout of laughter.

“This meeting is dismissed,” Bruce says.


	2. Colds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AnonymousRex on AO3:** Selina is sick (cold, flu, nothing serious) and Bruce has to take care of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timely, since I’m writing this while I’m sick with the colds too.

The cats are meowing, and for once, she pleads for them to quiet down. Lying on the couch, curled up in every single old fleece blanket she could find stuffed in the closet, with a mountain of used tissues on the coffee table and a dispenser within a lazy arm’s reach. Some Mexican telenovela was playing over the television, and the subtitles came so delayed she was surprised people could still understand the needlessly complicated plot.

She could hear the sirens wailing on outside in the cold evening. Turns out Gotham can’t wait for just one night where trouble doesn’t arise.

It gets even colder when she feels the draft on her skin, and the cats begin hissing. She doesn’t have to turn her head to know that the fire escape window had opened.

“Slow night?” she asks, her voice hoarse and croaked from blowing into tissues too hard.

“Gordon has it under control,” a corrupted, metallic voice answers, but it isn’t as terrifying as most people find it.

She feels a shadow walk from behind the couch to beside it, and the light from the television illuminates the tall darkness, outlining hard muscles and sleek curves of armor underneath gray and black Kevlar, or whatever he used to reinforce his suit these days. She watches as his eyes behind the cowl narrow, scrutinizing the program she had been viewing for the past two hours.

“What the hell are you watching?” he asks.

 _“Corazón de la Flor,”_ she pronounces, her accent on the Spanish without fault. “They’re on a marathon for the last ten seasons.”

There’s silence as she focuses on the show. The main character, Mariana, and the evil bitch character, Constanza, are yelling at each other for what seems to be the fourteenth time in the same episode. Their lover, Alejandro, watches in horror as the fight quickly escalates to a physical duel of curses and hair-pulling when Constanza slaps her enemy.

She tries to hide a laugh. It’s violent, but kind of stupid.

“You weren’t out on the streets tonight,” she hears him again. He hasn’t moved.

“What do you think?” she looks up at him and gestures to the mess of tissues and empty pill capsules around her. “Can’t rob a bank if I end up sneezing on the security alarms.”

He pauses, then retreats into the darkness; specifically, in the direction of her bathroom. She doesn’t know what he’s doing, but then again, she doesn’t care. She’s too busy breathing out of her mouth and wishing the congestion in her nose and awful headache would go away. That and the incredibly boring drama, the only source of pathetic entertainment at this ungodly hour.

The lights in the back click on. He’s saying something, but the voice modulator corrupts it to an insane degree, so all she hears is discordant babble.

“What?” she turns her head, and she sees some cats following him into the bathroom.

She hears a shuffling, then his head pops out into the doorframe; he had removed the cowl over his head, his hair is slick with sweat and his voice back to its less unsettling self. “I said: where do you keep your decongestant medicine?”

She blinks. “Uhm…top shelf of the medicine cabinet.”

He ducks back into the bathroom, and a few moments later, he comes out with a sheet of pills, throwing them onto the counter together with his cowl. He flips on the light switch to the kitchen, and the clatter of soup bowls and metal caldron is enough to attract the attention of her darlings. His tall height permits him to reach up above the cupboards without the help of a stool, and he sifts through her groceries, finally grabbing one of the easy open cans of something from the very back.

“Yeah, go ahead and help yourself to my winter reserves,” she says, and she doesn’t know if she’s being sarcastic or not.

He turns on the stove, then looks back for a few seconds to lock eyes with her. “This isn’t for me.”

She stops.

_Oh._

Her face is hot (and not because of the cold) as she turns back to her program. Alejandro is yelling something towards Constanza as he helps Mariana stand up, and it obviously isn’t something nice, because the next thing she knows, Constanza’s over-the-top mascara job is running down her face as she runs away in her three inch heels. Mariana’s bleeding down the temple (which is odd, given how Constanza basically slapped her just once on the cheek), and Alejandro takes her into his arms in the most pathetic way possible.

She hears something boiling in the kitchen, and his efforts to keep the cats from climbing onto the counter to play with his cowl continue to be futile.

Back on the show, Mariana is admitting something which was probably repeated around five times within the same episode. Alejandro admits that she’s the one he truly loves: an opinion which is probably going to change fifteen minutes later.

There’s a clatter on the stove, and his silent footsteps walk towards the couch; suddenly, his large gloved hand cups something in front of her, and she picks up a small, orange pill sitting in the middle of it. The clink of a glass of water is set on the coffee table as she sits up, her blankets pooling around her waist.

“When’s the last time you took this?” he asks.

She shrugs as she picks up the glass of water. “I think yesterday.”

He eases himself onto the empty space on the couch next to her, and he groans as he leans back onto the cushions. She swallows down the pill and gulps half the glass in one go.

“What’s cooking?” she murmurs, placing the glass back on the table.

“Cream of mushroom soup,” he replies, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s the only thing that isn’t expired up there.”

“Mm,” she hums.

She tucks her legs under her body, pulling the blankets back up to her chin as she leans her throbbing head on his broad shoulder, the mixed smell of his virile musk and sweat on his neck somehow permeating her clogged nose. The warmth exuding off his body makes her snuggle up to him more.

“So,” he starts, watching as the scene on the TV shifts to Constanza sobbing her way into her large beachside mansion, “care to catch me up to speed?”

“So she’s Constanza,” she points to the sobbing woman. “She’s the heiress to this rich family and she’s engaged some guy named Julio. He comes from a rich family too.”

A man in a pristine suit and goatee comes into view of the screen, running to comfort Constanza. “So that’s Julio?”

“Yeah, I think,” she squints, trying to remember his face.

He tries his best to understand the conversation they’re having without the assistance of the useless subtitles. “So wait, they’re talking about his Alejandro?”

“He’s some other guy. The veteran of four marriages, broke enough hearts in his prime, typical playboy. But he’s a _nice_ playboy, or whatever.”

“And Constanza loves him?”

“Yeah, even though she’s engaged to another man.”

The two watch as Constanza continues to cry on and on to her fiancé about how she was abused by Alejandro and his lover.

“And this Mariana girl,” he frowns, “Alejandro’s in love with _her?”_

“Yeah, but she used to be in love with Julio’s brother. And Julio’s brother used to be married to Alejandro’s sister Evangelina, but they got into this huge fight because Evagelina was cheating on him with another guy.”

He stops to digest that.

“I don’t get it either,” she yawns.

“I think you really need to go to sleep.”

She shuts her eyes, and she likes to think of it as quiet around her. “It’s only 10:30.”

“It was 10:30 three hours ago. Your body isn’t gonna fight that cold if you’re not sleeping early.”

She scoffs, feeling her patched-up heart do a stupid little somersault in her chest. “Who are you, my nanny?”

“No, I’m your boyfriend.”

Her eyes fly open, and she tries to taste that word on her tongue, as pathetic as it sounded. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The small smile is evident in his the way he speaks. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“There should be a better word for it.”

“Well, ‘lover’ sounds a bit too serious.”

She looks up and locks eyes with him. “But when are you _not_ serious, Bats?”

He stares at her for what seems to be ages, ignoring the drama playing in the background. Using a warm hand, he wipes the stray locks of hair from her forehead and kisses it gently.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers.

“After the soup’s done cooking,” she replies, smiling.


	3. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AnyonmousRex on AO3:** Bruce getting jealous of another man flirting with Selina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your [optional background music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLh-m1Z_feY), for theatricality purposes.

“Master Wayne.”

He sips his champagne, but he doesn’t turn.

_“Master Wayne.”_

He dampens his lips subtly. “Mh.”

“You’re staring.”

He is, he doesn’t care. Across the large and lavish ballroom of the Prestigio hotel, in front of the bar, Gabriel Parker’s busy filling his stomach with every single wine brand available. Through the movement of sparkling gowns and stiff suits, his figure stands out: blond hair slicked back into a neat pompadour, tailored Armani and one of the priciest watches cash could buy. His blue irises stand out even from afar, against the yellow lights and crystal chandeliers.

But that isn’t the reason his jaw is clenched.

Next to him, laughing with the signature _femme fatale_ charm he was confident he never fell for, is the only woman in the party wearing black, though it’s clear her dress is one of the more stunning ones: bare shoulders, fitted bodice, and a wide petticoat laid with silk and sparkling chiffon. Her lips are blood red, her short hair is swept to the side, not a lock out of place, and her silver bracelets gleam in the light of the ballroom. They won’t be the only pieces of jewelry she’ll be leaving with tonight, that he’s sure about.

 _Fuck,_ she’s so goddamn beautiful.

What makes it more annoying is the fact that she’s not smiling right next to him.

“I’m not staring,” he forgets to answer.

Alfred’s clad in a suit next to him; it’s not every day that his butler gets to attend charity events, and he’s clearly having the time of his life teasing him. “You might be the world’s greatest detective, Sir, but you’re a terrible liar.”

They’re silent as Bruce puts his empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray.

Alfred cranes his neck and adjusts his glasses to follow his gaze. “Just what are you looking at, anyway?”

“Nobody,” he retorts, walking in the other direction as to try and pull his butler away.

Alfred doesn’t leave and squints into the distance. “Wait a moment, is that Miss Kyle?”

Bruce feels the ire make his fingertips shake. “Alfred, don’t—”

“It _is_ Miss Kyle. She…looks like she’s rather enjoying herself with Master Parker. Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all evening?”

“Whatever Gabriel Parker does tonight is none of my business.”

Alfred scoffs. “Unless he’ll end up flattering the woman of your affections with his charm and chivalry.”

Bruce sighs. “Alfred—”

“Master Wayne, you’re acting like a child. Does something as petty as another man entertaining her make you _that_ irritated?”

Another pause. Bruce turns his head once he hears her laughter echo throughout the chatter, and he’s met with the image of Parker’s elbow looped with her arm as she leans on the young man’s shoulder. He tries his best not to punch a hole into the floor.

Alfred walks up to look at the same sight beside him. “You’re jealous, Master Wayne.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Try as you might to fool me, Sir, you aren’t being that convincing at the moment.”

“Then what should I do to convince you?”

“Unclench your fists, for one.”

He loosens his fingers. He didn’t even notice when he had clenched them.

“Just go talk to her, Sir,” Alfred sighs. “What harm is there? She’s your escort.”

He doesn’t want to admit that there’s wisdom in what Alfred’s trying to tell him. “Fine.”

Alfred hides a triumphant smirk as Bruce makes his way through the crowd towards Selina. Just as he’s approaching, thank God, Parker’s been called away by some investor in a tuxedo (and it doesn’t really matter who), leaving Selina alone in the middle of the ballroom. Unconsciously, he picks up his pace to make sure that he gets to her first before any other man.

No, he’s not jealous.

“There you are,” Selina sighs, tapping her manicured fingernails on her lips. “For a minute there, it looked like your gossip mate over there had you mad.”

He follows where she’s pointing, and it goes right back to Alfred, who’s trying to hide the obvious fact that he’s watching them.

“So,” he pockets his hands into his slacks, “what business does Gabriel Parker have talking to you?”

There’s confusion reflected in her irises, but they slowly grow sly, as if she’s reading right through him. “What business does _Bruce Wayne_ have in my casual talk with the gentlemen here tonight?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Please, what Parker was doing was anything but casual talk.”

Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “So I _was_ right. You were watching me.”

“So?”

She smirks. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s written all over your face, Bruce.”

Unconsciously, he wipes his face with a hand. “It isn’t.”

Her slender arms cross in front of her. “It’s not nice to eye a lady from afar, you know.”

“It’s also not nice to flirt with other men while you’re in a relationship, but here we are.”

Her brows arc. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bruce? I’m not a nice girl.”

He can’t resist it, and the corners of his lips turn upward in a smile. “Keep telling yourself that.”

She sighs, reaching up to fix the collar and lapels of his tuxedo, smoothening out the creases as the feeling of her fingers through the fabric of his coat seems to beckon to him. The temptation is real, but resistible.

“Where’d Parker run off to?” Bruce asks, his voice dropped to something like a murmur.

She shrugs. “Off to exploit another woman’s hormones, that’s for sure. He seemed intimidated by what I said.”

“What did you tell him?”

Her eyes lock with his, and the mischief in them reminds him why he loves her so damn much. “That I was Bruce Wayne’s date tonight.”

He exhales through his nostrils, feeling the relief flood though him. "And what about his watch? You better be planning on giving that back to him tonight."

She rolls her eyes, still smiling in defeat. "You were standing so far away. I don't get how you catch these things."

"I didn't. I just know you."


	4. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous on Tumblr:** Bruce is working on a case and Selina tries to get his attention. "Staring at your coffee is not going to make it magically give you the answer."

Alfred, handing her a mug of coffee, tells her to go check on him. Which means that either Alfred was incredibly busy, or Bruce was. Odds are it’s the latter.

Going down the elevator to the cave is actually much more of a ritual than she gives it credit for. Stepping into the capsule and allowing her irises to be scanned, she hits a few buttons and the doors close in front of the fireplace, beginning her descent into the underground. It’s not even thirty seconds before they open again into a large expanse of glass and metal and bats, the sound of running water filling her ears as the clicks of her shoes make their way into the work place.

Not that she’s shocked by what she sees, but it’s definitely not the usual sight to greet her. His computer monitors are filled with different windows of police dossiers, passports, CCTV footage, photographic evidence, news media, and just about everything else he could hack into. Papers, both crumpled and blank, lie just about everywhere on the floor. As she makes her silent entrance into the computer room, she finally sees his figure towards the very end, with his back facing her; he’s busy compiling different pieces of evidence on his table, large shoulders rolling back as if to massage himself, constantly rearranging items and connecting the dots. Even from where she’s standing she can hear him mumbling to himself loud and clear.

“It isn’t possible,” he’s saying. “The forensic reports says that the chemical compound used wasn’t from their associate from STAR Labs. Though it’s probable he could’ve been lying, it doesn’t add up to the fact that Gordon’s suspect admitted the same thing.”

Her footsteps are loud against the humming of the machinery and the waterways beneath them. He hears them, but he doesn’t even look back.

“Alfred, did you bring the printed reports from the GCPD?” he asks.

“Nope,” she answers, and he finally turns his head to look at her as she holds up the mug. “But he made you this.”

“Okay, just…” and he gestures lamely, as if asking her to come towards him.

She approaches and he turns around, resting his body on the laboratory desk. He takes the mug from her and downs half of it in one go. She notices that the waistcoat and dress shirt he was wearing are crumpled and far from presentable, his usually neat hair dishevelled and his stubble probably weeks old, already growing into something similar to a five o’clock shadow. His pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes are more of a cause for alarm, however.

“You know what time it is?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know…eleven, I think,” he shrugs, gulping down the coffee again.

“One AM. Alfred says you’ve been down here for twenty-six hours.”

He reaches up to scratch his chin, squinting at nothing. “Hm…didn’t feel like twenty-six hours.”

"Whatever you're working on better be worth all the sleepless nights you're putting into it."

He almost smiles, looking down at his coffee. "If that's the case, nothing really has changed."

"You know, staring at your coffee is not going to make it magically give you the answer."

He blinks into his mug. "Yeah."

They’re silent. She’s expecting him to maybe ask how she’s been, or check if she needs help for something, maybe ask if her if she wanted to spend the night, but no. He doesn't even ask her a question.

“Thanks, Selina,” he turns back around to his work, picking up a few papers to the side of the table.

She tilts her head. She’s fought this battle before.

“So,” she swerves to the side, watching as his deft hands fix the piles. “Talk to me.”

“Forensic reports from the GCPD,” he says, not stopping as he sorts through all the papers. “All different accounts of a singular murder that happened to a scientist outside of the STAR Labs branch here in Gotham. What makes it strange is that all of them have different ways suggesting how the man died, based on his autopsy, and they’re bizarrely unique.” He picks up one stack and begins to sift through it. “For example, one account says he died due to copper poisoning, another due to a cut in the throat.”

She had already been lost by the time he reached the word ‘GCPD.’ “Wow.”

“Which makes it odd because the autopsy records do show that he could have _either_ been cut in the throat or poisoned by copper. And that’s only two reports of fifteen that I have here, all different.”

She purposely drapes herself over his shoulders, putting her hand over his on the papers. “So what does that mean?”

He stops, almost flinches at her touch, but he doesn’t. “It means that either the body has strange chemical properties, or each account is lying.”

“I don’t know, Bruce,” she uses her fingers of her free hand to trace his jawline. “People can be awful things. They _do_ tend to lie.”

He doesn’t move. “Even the GCPD?”

She presses her mouth to his neck and drops her voice to a whisper. _“Especially_ the GCPD.”

There’s silence between them. Each muscle in his broad body seems tense and tired at the same time. He turns his head a little bit, and her face is right there, in front of his.

“What do you want, Selina?” he asks, the smell of coffee and sleepless hours wafting in the air between them.

“Thought I didn’t need to spell it out for you,” she grins, positioning herself more comfortably in front of him rather than to his side.

Without warning, he takes her face and presses his lips to hers, using the large mass of his body to push her against the table, scattering papers all over the floor. Once the shocked yelp leaves her throat, she lets out a moan and begins gnawing at him, using the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, trying to elicit more groans and growls from him. What makes it worse is the taste of coffee on his tongue, the feeling of his hands snaking down her neck and across her waist as she claws her way through the locks of his graying messy hair. She can't even breathe properly once he moves away.

“Does this mean you’ll take a break?” she says when they finally part, using a sharp fingernail to draw his jaw closer to hers.

He smirks, a small huff of breath spreading across her face as he takes her abused bottom lip between his, and _God,_ what this man can do to her. “No.”

And sure, she’s willing to forgive him for that.


	5. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which as he’s stopping criminals going on a date night, the Bat forgets he has a date of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a disclaimer: I’ve never written the Joker and Harley before, so apologies in advance.
> 
> Have a quick Valentine’s Day something between my requests.

The car makes the chase faster than it should be, but that damn purple Lamborghini still is a world-class sports car, and still can rival the speed of even the most advanced of his technology. The two vehicles rumble down the evening streets of Gotham, the sound of tires racing on the pavement interrupting dates packing the diners and restaurants, retail stores whose windows are tacked with red hearts, different flower stalls across the sidewalks selling of roses in all different colors.

And it’s only for tonight.

Not that he’s thinking about it.

The turbines behind him roar as the car speeds on forward, catching up to the obnoxiously lit Lamborghini still many meters ahead. It won’t take long before he rams into them.

He hits a button and the grappling hook flies out towards the Lamborghini, latching onto the tail lights and immediately breaking them open. Stepping on the brakes, he pulls back the sports car until it starts burning rubber onto the street.

Once he sets his transportation on autopilot, he ejects out and launches himself onto the purple car as their entire tug of war shudders upon his landing. Gunshots echo through the steel to attempt and hit him, but they bounce off his titanium-layered gauntlets effortlessly. He pulls out from his belt a batarang made of carbon alloy, using it like a crude knife to tear into the metal, cutting a hole through the roof.

The tug of war shudders again, as the Bat can only conclude the driver is busy hitting the gas as hard as he can.

“Don’t you _dare_ ruin the new car, you stupid bat!” the angry voice of a woman yells from inside, more bullets accompanying her loud mouth.

He dodges the shots and moves back, kicking a hole into the roof so he could reach inside. A shrill scream permeates the air as he continues to hammer the steel down into the interior of the Lamborghini. But he isn’t ready for the click of a chamber and the muzzle of the woman’s flashy revolver to be immediately pointed straight at his nose.

Inside the car, a pale-faced harlequin riding shotgun, her dual dyed locks of pink and blue pinned up in a messy way as if to mock Hollywood’s dishevelled actress hair look; beside her, in a pristine and yet crumpled suit that was most likely pilfered from a random Diamond District dry cleaner’s, is a tattooed man with metal teeth, green hair, and wild, almost feral eyes.

The Joker grins. “Happy Valentine’s, Batsy!”

And with a strong punch delivered by the harlequin, he’s blown back into the windshield of his own car, the force enough to release the grappling hook’s latch onto the purple Lamborghini. The Joker speeds away, but the Bat wastes no time in climbing back into his vehicle and running after them.

“Dammit, Jim, where are you?” the Bat growls into his communicator as he closes in on his target.

“We can’t move towards them,” Jim shouts back on the radio. “Even the minor roads are filled to the brim with parking. It isn’t our fault the traffic jam’s at its worst today.”

The Bat tightens his lips into a thin line as he mounts the roof of his car, ready to fly.

Right, it’s Valentine’s Day.

He jumps and lands on the purple car a second time, hooking the blades of his gauntlets into the hole he made earlier. He swings himself forward, placing his feet on the windshield as he uses a hand to keep him anchored to the car. The jester laughs like a madman while the harlequin begins to shoot at his head, creating holes, a good weak spot to target, into the glass. The Bat rams his fist through one of them, grabbing the steering wheel and swerving it to the side.

The laughter turns into screams as the Bat shoots his grappling gun upward, hooking himself onto a lamppost as the car crashes into a brick wall, with the hood strong enough to crush some of the stones and create a wide gap in the building. He perches himself perfectly on the finial of the street lamp, watching the debris fly out into the streets and causing the traffic jam to get even worse.

At least he made the evening interesting for the couples that were watching.

* * *

The GCPD arrive late, but they do their job quickly. Walling off the pedestrians, securing the perimeter, arresting the Joker and Harley Quinn, who were both barely conscious and still found laughing in the debris of their million dollar sports car. In a thin alleyway somewhere close where no one would dare to look, Gordon, with his trench coat billowing in the February breeze, lights a cigar as a shadow materializes behind him.

“Turns out the Joker can’t seem to give us a break these days,” Gordon scoffs.

“Knowing the occasion, he probably wanted to take out his date on a night around town,” the darkness growls. “The mistake was he did it in _my_ town.”

A smile appears on Gordon’s lips as he watches the crime scene get packed away, lovers and families crowding around the police tape for a glance at Gotham’s most infamous couple. “Valentine’s Day, of all days.”

He’s met with a silence; usually that’s because the Bat’s busy thinking but it doesn’t seem that way now. In fact, it seems that he’s at a loss for words.

“How’s Sarah?” the Bat asks, almost awkwardly.

Gordon blinks at the mention of his wife, resisting the urge to turn his head just to look at the Bat’s expression. But he fears he’ll vanish in the two seconds it will take him to do that. “Uh…she’s fine. I was supposed to take her out to dinner earlier tonight, but looks like those plans are as good as ruined.”

“There’s still a few hours left until all the restaurants uptown close.”

Gordon nods. “Do _you_ have any plans?”

Silence. The comfortable kind, the kind that the Bat probably thinks gives the impression that he disappeared.

The presence behind him shifts. “If Gotham needs me tonight, there won’t be any.”

Gordon resists the urge to let out a chuckle. “So Gotham’s your date, huh? Real romantic.”

He can practically hear the Bat’s nerves go on edge.

“Look, I get it,” Gordon exhales smoke. “You’re busy being a silent guardian, a Dark Knight, whatever. But tonight’s special. I know you’re still a man under that mask, probably have a date that _isn’t_ a city in total jeopardy every five minutes.”

The shadows move.

Gordon still doesn’t look back. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The silence echoes back. For some reason, Gordon finds it incredibly funny.

The Commissioner takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Say hello to that cat burglar for me, would you?”

And then he’s alone, for real.

* * *

Through her red goggles, she’s looking down at the Gotham City Museum from the street across it, already freshly closed. The couples and Valentine’s Day lovers disperse from the doors, the display lights on the show banners shutting down one by one. Her uneven heartbeat can only take a few minutes, but a few minutes is all she needs to get in, get out, and get a prize. A gift to herself on this day of romance.

Right, a day of romance.

She sighs and stands up slowly, putting her infrared goggles over her forehead.

Part of her is disappointed that a certain significant other would ask her out on a date, maybe a night time run through the rooftops as their true masked selves, but the other part of her isn’t surprised. Anyone within a five-mile radius of Main Street could hear the GCPD sirens following after the Joker’s flashy car earlier.

Turns out his Valentine’s today is justice. Like it is every single night.

She prepares to unravel her whip from her side when she feels something shift from behind her. Speak of the devil, really.

“You here to ask me out?” she quips, making the most out of how guilty she could make him. “Sorry, but Schiavone’s closed about thirty minutes ago.”

“No,” he replies, with a tone that seems bashful, almost.

She turns around, only to find (half of his) handsome face and broad body cloaked perfectly among the rooftop shadows. His chest and limbs are obscured behind his cape, and she could see nothing behind it.

“So,” she asks, hands on her hips. “How was your date?”

He takes a step forward. “I…didn’t go out on one yet.”

She tilts her head, her green eyes mischievous.

He sighs, shutting his eyes. “Look, Selina, I’m sorry—”

“Yes, it was the Joker. I get it.” She waves off her hand. “No, don’t apologize, I really understand.”

“Let me. I’m sorry.”

He brushes one half of his cape to the side, holding out to her a quaint bouquet of beautiful red roses wrapped in vibrant paper and plastic.

A long pause sits between them. They both stop.

Then her green eyes widen, her heart does a little pathetic somersault in her chest as her face grows warm. Suddenly, breaking the cold winter silence, she laughs into her clawed hand.

“God, you are so adorable,” she says.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replies as she takes the flowers from him gently, pressing them to her nose to inhale their fresh scent.

They’re a breath apart from each other, close enough and far enough. They lock eyes, behind the cowl, behind the animals and the costumes, and she remembers just what made her fall for this gorgeous, broken man in the first place. She traces his jaw carefully as to not wound him, then presses a chaste kiss on his lips. He tastes like adrenaline, wine, and sweat and she loves every bit of it.

“I think I will,” she whispers, wrapping her free hand around the mesh armor of the nape of his cowl.

“You won’t,” he returns, the voice modulator making him seem more mysterious, so much more attractive.

He moves this time, kissing her softly again. She feels a small smirk grow against her lips, and as she laughs, she feel like she’ll remember this Valentine’s Day more than the ten ones she spent abroad.


	6. Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bat and the Cat both receive advice from another power couple, and it gives them startling realizations about themselves and the one they love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since _Batman #37,_ I couldn’t resist imagining these two couples interacting with each other in the DCEU. It just had to happen. 
> 
> Well, semi-interacting. Indirectly.

He thinks it’s almost odd that there’s no traffic jams in a city as massive and as populated as Metropolis. The streets are easy to navigate, the roads run smoother, the place is cleaner, the sidewalks are so aligned, and everything about the place is just so…spotless, unsoiled, pure, like nothing bad could ever happen on these golden pavements.

Sometimes it’s a wonder that Gotham and this place are sister cities, when they almost have nothing in common.

His luxurious sports car turns the corner of a stoplight as he speeds easily down the main street, when, as if it’s almost natural, the thought of Gotham comes to mind, then follows his schedule and the work he has to do while he’s here. Letting out a sigh, he slows down as he calls someone from the high-tech panels of his car.

“Hey,” he says when the receiver picks up. “I’m already in Metrpopolis.”

“That’s great,” Selina’s voice fills the car’s speakers. “Was expecting you to get there later this evening.”

“Yeah, well…they don’t have the traffic jams we have.”

“Sounds like a real dream city. So why’d you call?”

He turns another corner into a wide street, trying to remember how far the address. “This lead I’m following might take some overnight work. I’ll be staying here until tomorrow afternoon, so you got the whole city to yourself tonight.”

She lets out a triumphant huff. “Sounds marvellous.”

He lets a breath go, leaning back into his chair. “I’m _trusting_ you, Selina.”

And she relents with a sigh, but by the tone of her voice, her smile hadn’t disappeared. “Okay, okay, don’t get your cape in a twist. I’ll spend the night over with Alfred and do your clean up chores.”

“As long as it doesn’t strain you, okay?”

“Okay, Bruce.”

He sees the building, about a few blocks away. “While I’m here, would you want me to get you anything?”

“Hmm…” and she stops, pondering for a while as he spots the building just a few blocks away. “If you can, try getting some pedigree Kitty Crunch Bites? I’m sure they have it in one of those fancy malls somewhere.”

“Got it,” he makes a mental note of it as he swerves into the driveway of the _Daily Planet,_ where an imposing, yet friendly figure waits for him right outside the glass doors. “I have to go, Cat. I’ll call you later.”

“Bye, Bat.”

And she hangs up before he does.

Stopping right in the middle of the driveway, he rolls down the windows of his Mazda, catching the attention of the man waiting for him there. Tall, muscular, somewhat daunting in a strange way, yet exuding an air of impeccable kindness. A reporter ID hangs over one of the many pockets of his jacket, a bag slung over an arm. Dressed in a plaid dress shirt and a tie that no way matched with the rest of his outfit, his dark tousled hair slicked back in a messy yet charming way to keep it from his face, with black-rimmed glasses framing ice-blue eyes.

“There you are,” the reporter says to Bruce, propping his satchel higher over his shoulder as he goes over to ride shotgun. “Hope we can make it to the place before the traffic hits.”

Bruce rolls up the window again as the reporter makes himself comfortable, the doors closing automatically.

“Still, that took you quite a while,” the reporter says, turning to the driver.

“Sorry we don’t all have super speed,” Bruce eases on the gas as they make their way back onto a main street.

* * *

Putting her phone back in her pocket, she takes a sip of her peppermint tea as the woman seated across from her tilts her head in curiosity.

The Café Magna in Gotham City, one of the many luxury dining places in the Diamond District, is busiest in the morning, catering to the many customers who wanted to have their breakfast overlooking Main Street, or maybe to grab a pastry and a cup of coffee that, combined, probably cost more than the lowest salary this city could offer. Seated at one of the outside couples’ chairs, the red-haired reporter takes a sip of her mocha drink as she eases herself into her seat.

“Sorry, what was that?” Selina asks. “You were saying something.”

“Nothing,” the reporter shrugs off. “I was just thanking you for helping me find my way in Gotham. It isn’t every day that I go to this place for a scoop, not to mention every building pretty much looks the same. It’s kinda easy to get lost.”

Selina huffs, taking a sip of her tea as she eyes the reporter. “Of course, you live in Metropolis. If I were you, I’d never even leave that city.”

A gentle smile graces the reporter’s lips as a stray thought takes her attention. “Who was that on the phone earlier?”

“Oh, it was just Bruce,” she scoffs.

The reporter’s eyes light up suddenly. “Ah, I see.”

She frowns, a nervous smile creeping up on her face. “Is there a problem, Lois?”

Lois gives a laugh. “No, it’s nothing, it’s just…you and him, huh?”

“Oh my God,” she massages her temple, “here we go.”

“Are you two official yet?”

She holds out her hand in front of her. “Well, we’re dating, I guess…but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

* * *

Clark’s eyebrows arch. “Dating, huh?”

Bruce’s eyes turn to him. “Something wrong with that?”

Clark holds up his hands. “No, no, but…seriously? It took you _years_ to hook up, from what you’ve told me about her.”

Bruce looks at the road signs, turning a corner. “There was a pretty messy past between us, so it isn’t as simple as getting into it there and then.”

“Okay, define ‘messy past.’”

“On again, off again, like some chase that we’d never know we’d win. And there was actually a time we _were_ together, but it was only for a few years. Some things didn’t work out before and it made it impossible for us to continue.”

“Harsh…but at least you’re together now, right?”

“At least.”

Silence invades the car. Bruce continues to drive further along the street as Clark sits still, almost obediently, motionless, as if he’s deep in thought.

“Can ask you a question?” Clark suddenly says, startling Bruce quite a bit.

“Go ahead,” Bruce replies.

“Why do you love Selina?”

* * *

Selina feels her face grow warm at the query. “What?”

“You heard me,” Lois leans forward into the table. “Why do you love Bruce?”

Selina rests her cheek on her hand, swirling her tea absentmindedly using a spoon. Her mind is suddenly buzzing with all the thoughts pushing each other to get to her tongue first, as if there’s suddenly too much to say that none of it couldn’t be said.

“Well, it’s just…” and she loses the thought again, sweeping some hair out of her face. “Like…he believes I’m redeemable. I know I’m a bad person, but he always thinks I can do good, and I don’t…want that faith in me to go to waste, you know? He sees the better part of me, a part that I don’t want to even think belongs to me. He’s made me realize just how much potential I have; tirelessly, relentlessly, he’s always told me just how much I can improve. And it’s not easy to do that, just as it isn’t easy to love a thief.”

* * *

“She was always there,” he says without losing a beat, only after a moment of thought. “Even when I pushed everyone away, she was there waiting for me. After I’ve given up on the world, she still comes back, even though I expected her to forget everything. She’s touched a part of me that I’ve buried long ago, something that I thought was dead. She knows what I do, what I am, what I’m capable of. And she loves me anyway.”

Clark nods. “You know that she probably feels the same way, right?”

“Probably even _more_ than the same way,” Bruce runs a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of the weight these realizations had on his consciousness. “Sometimes, I think that I don’t deserve her.”

* * *

“But you do,” Lois says, gingerly holding Selina’s hand. “You’ve always deserved him.”

Selina only stares blankly at their hands. “Sometimes, I wish we worked together as smooth as you and Clark.”

Lois eyes her curiously at the mention of her own fiancé’s name, and gives a gentle smile. “I think it’s only because it took us a short while to really find each other through the difficulties. Yours, meanwhile, is decades long, which will probably make the end feel even more earned.”

Selina shuts her eyes, letting the years of her and Bruce run past her mind’s eye in fast-motion.

“When we fell in love with heroes,” Lois continues, retracting her touch and staring at her coffee, “we had to admit that it wasn’t gonna be easy. Actually, _most_ of it was never really easy. The threats of peril, of death, how it’s always just…there, even in your daily lives. And you really have to think: is loving this man really worth all of the danger that you have to get through?”

They both stop to think.

“I realized when Clark left me, that yes,” Lois finishes. “He was worth everything. And I didn’t fully realize just how much he meant to me until he was gone. So you have to ask yourself if all of this really is the best for you.”

Selina stops, thinks about all she’s been through, about all he’s been through, about everything that they’ve ever done together and apart. And maybe, just for once in this long chain of miseries she calls her life, she can find some happiness in her feelings for this broken, brooding mess she calls her quasi-boyfriend.

“He is,” she responds, not solemnly, but not lightly either. “He’s worth everything.”

Lois cracks a smile.

Selina suddenly realizes the words she just let out of her mouth and sighs. “I hate how right you made me sound.”

“Only because you won’t deny it.”

She groans in her chair, while Lois lets out a laugh.

* * *

“Just trust her, Bruce,” Clark says as they make a right, entering Metropolis’ business district. “I guess it’s hard because of both your motivations, but if you really love her, you’d let her do what’s right for her, even if it worries you.”

“You don’t understand,” Bruce nearly retorts. “She has a goddamn heart condition that could kill her at any given moment, and the reason she’s become what she is now is all my fault. If I’m not worrying about her, then how the hell am I showing that I love her?”

Clark pauses for a while, as if to absorb it, then frowns, as if he’s reflecting on something as well. “You really think that I don’t worry about Lois all the time?”

Bruce can almost recall the many, many times that Lois had been flung off buildings, in mere attempts to attract the attention of the Man of Steel. Though Lois is perhaps more than assured that the love of her life is always there, ready to catch her, the panic as gravity pulls her closer to her demise is perhaps one of the most horrifying things imaginable.

“You have to trust that Selina knows how to take care of herself,” Clark continues. “Look, I get it: we’re the world’s finest, or whatever the news wants to call us these days, and that kind of dangerous job comes with a cost. You think that we worry over them too much? Imagine what kind of strain saving lives the way we do puts on them.”

There’s a silence as Bruce focuses on the road, barely even glancing at Clark. But it doesn’t disturb the reporter one bit, as he closes his eyes and lets the smooth mechanisms of the car entertain his superior hearing. Suddenly, Bruce’s sigh is loud in his ears and he nearly flinches at the sound of it.

“I can’t believe I’m taking advice from you,” Bruce suddenly says.

“I can’t believe you’re listening to me,” Clark smiles, “so I guess we’ve broken some records today.”

Bruce looks at the _Grande Envol_ hotel on his right, and pulls up along the driveway. “We’re here.”

As they stop right in front of the hotel doors, Clark doesn’t move, doesn’t get out of the car, staring blankly at the dashboard, as if the gears in his mind are relentlessly turning.

“What?” Bruce says, more in an urgent command for him to leave the car.

Clark, without moving his head, points at the exit. “You know I could’ve just flown us to this place and it would have taken us less than a minute, right? And we wouldn’t have had to go through me giving you relationship advice?”

Bruce tries to picture Clark carrying him, and the thought is immediately banished far away from his mind. “No, no, no. Now get the hell out of my car.”

* * *

The shadows look akin to a gargoyle, perching on top of the _Grande Envol_ building in central Metropolis, the evening lights illuminating every sharp and still angle of his body. The darkness of his cape sweeps around him, blanketing him away from the sight of the passerby nearly forty floors below. Among them, Clark Kent stays disguised in his guise as a journalist, ready to infiltrate the place and scan for more clues on the nature of Lex Luthor’s disappearance from Arkham.

The shadows kneel, affixing a scope to a sniper-like mechanism that will be used to shoot a tracking device. If what he knows is correct, one of Luthor’s associates will be bringing him a case of nearly a million dollars embezzled from his own company, and if he’s to track down the thing, it’ll lead straight to where he keeps his money. The exchange is to happen tonight, a few minutes from now, in room 3715.

“I’m in the lobby,” Clark says through his communication device. “What’s the floor?”

“Thirty-seventh,” the Bat growls, his voice gnarled by the modifier.

A pause. “I’m on my way up.”

Before the Bat could reply, a sound in his cowl alerts him someone is calling him…through a mobile phone, according to the radio waves. “Hold on, I have to take this.”

“Sure you do,” Clark says, before he’s nearly cut off by Bruce switching the channels.

“What?” he says to whoever’s calling him; since it’s on the number linked to the cave, it’s probably someone he trusts enough.

It’s a voice he half-expected, and was half-surprised to be hearing. “Bat, it’s me—wait, your voice…oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something important?”

“No, not at all,” and midway through the sentence, he switches off a button close to the jawline of the cowl, turning the disguiser off. “Is there…something you need?”

“Uh…no,” Selina’s voice says, slightly nervous. “Look, I was just…thinking, earlier today. About us.”

“Okay,” the Bat says, watching as his targets through the scope continue talking over a smoke. “And?”

“And…look, not to sound heartfelt or absolutely pathetic, but…I never really…appreciated how much you mean to me until recently. You’ve done a lot for me, and I guess it’s only occurred to me now how I’ve never really returned that favor enough.”

“You know you never have to, right?” the Bat shifts the nozzle to the side, aiming directly at the henchman, even though his fingers are jittery and shaking with excitement at her words. “I might not know how to show it, but I…love you, Selina.”

There’s a pause between them.

“You’ve been talking with Lois, haven’t you?” he asks.

“And you’ve been talking with Clark,” she replies.

He huffs. “Dammit.”

“Knew it would take a bit of coaxing for us to really speak to each other like that, hm?”

“Yeah, but whatever those words sounded like in my head, I meant every single one of them.”

“I do too, Bat.”

He hears no white noise feedback from Clark’s end, and he zooms in on the target’s briefcase.

“I might come back to Gotham early tonight or tomorrow,” he says. “So expect me back before six.”

“You got it,” she replies, and there’s background noise of a few beeping and the clacking of a keyboard; she’s most likely in the cave. “Oh, Alfred’s calling. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“I will. Bye, Cat.”

“Bye, Bat.”

She hangs up before he does, and he doesn’t forget to turn on his modifier again. The channel switches back to Clark and the first thing the Bat hears is laughter.

“You know you two are cute, right?” Clark comments.

“How did you even hear that?” the Bat asks.

“Super hearing, remember?”

“Right,” the Bat pulls the trigger at the right moment, and the tracker sticks silently onto the bottom of the case. “Remind me never to talk about my private manners in a three-mile radius around you.”

“Close,” Clark corrects. “Five miles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From what Zack Snyder tells us in _Batman v Superman,_ Gotham and Metropolis aren't actually a cross country trip away. In fact, [they're basically neighbors](https://www.wired.com/2015/07/dawn-of-justice-gotham-metropolis/).
> 
> Also, the reason I should write Clark more? Bruce's and his stupid banter.


	7. Importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bat and the Cat discuss matters of consequence, and what it means to matter to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't rated G. A bit of sexual insinuation here (thus I raised the rating of this fic), but not that graphic, just something that borders on explicit and fluff, hopefully.
> 
> I swear, I’ll answer some of the prompts soon, I’m just swamped with too much brain trash. While I’m on that tragic Jason train from my other story, I’ll let this sit out a little.

He hopes that his homecoming doesn’t wake anybody. In the dead hours of the 2 AM morning, the elevator from the cave parts at the fireplace, and he quietly moves into his bedroom, keeping the entrance open as to ensure Alfred’s sleep goes undisturbed across the hallway.

Like it’s a ritual, he unbuttons his shirt and sheds it off his body, feeling the new knots in his back he gained from wrestling with an escaped Killer Croc mere evenings ago. He can be grateful the suit saved his spine, but it doesn’t help that some of the more terrible aftereffects of a fight like are still felt; hell, going out tonight probably aggravated them even more.

Sitting on his bed, he bites down a groan as he feels the hardened flesh right under his shoulder blade, right next to a patchwork of scars he doesn’t care where from. Much to his frustration, he can’t seem to reach the core of the ache, and can only soothe the outer areas of the sore spot.

He hears the door creak open. The softness of the footsteps as they approach are barefoot, too light to be Alfred’s.

“Hey,” he hears, a warm body filling in the cold space on the bed behind him.

He doesn’t even look back to know who it is. “You spent the evening? I didn’t see you when I came in.”

“You’re not supposed to, handsome. That’s kind of my thing, the whole cat burglar habit.”

There’s a silence. She sighs, interrupting it first.

“I was sleeping on your couch when I heard the elevator. I was waiting up for you.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“It’s fine.”

Silence again, and they both welcome it. Her hands trace the scars that scatter over his back, sharp nails retracing the marks she had left there in the past. He feels her hand over his, and she slowly moves her fingers over his aching muscles, getting rid of his own from the spot. His eyes slowly shut as her breath ghosts hover the skin of his nape.

“Here?” she asks, pressing on the sore muscle.

He hums in agreement, and her other hand rests on his shoulder to keep him in place as she begins to massage his knots. A wave of both ache and pleasure washes over his nerves, and his body nearly goes limp as she continues slowly, carefully, with the dexterity and skill only a thief’s fingers would have.

He accidentally lets out a couple of groans as she rubs circles over the area. “Oh, _God.”_

She chuckles softly, nibbling the side of his neck. “You sound so sexy right now.”

“Hmm, I can tell you’re having so much fun with this,” he says quietly, nearly interrupted by another moan as she untangles a stiffer part. _“Oh…_ oh, shit…”

“You have no idea,” there’s a mirth of laughter in her voice, low, lovely, as she does the last of them. “You okay now?”

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter open, and he moves around slowly as her hands leave his back. “I’m okay now.”

When he turns, he sees her sitting there, in the dark light of his room, dressed in a nice black camisole she probably left behind here. He inches closer, using a hand to hold her face closer to his. The dim lights of the night outside illuminate the features of her expression, her short hair, the curved lines of her neck, waist, arms, the exposed skin of her thighs, making clear the outline of her lips, where they part, how they move when she breathes…and _God,_ how she just—

“Bruce?” she whispers.

“Yes?” he whispers back.

“Kiss me.”

And he moves even closer and kisses her. Again, and again, and again and again. And he savors every moment of it: her moans, the catching of his breath, their mouths parting, and how he absolutely despises that brief space between them whenever they would separate, how he hates every single second their lips aren’t touching. How she tastes, how her fingers weaves through his hair, how she makes him _feel…_ he can’t take any more of this without wanting to burst.

“I want you…” he breathes. “I want you, I _need_ you, baby…”

She lets a giggle go, tracing each muscle of his back, along his spine. "I thought you didn't like calling each other baby before."

"'Before' was a different time," he mutters. 

She claws at his nape and presses her lips to an area below his ear, a spot which she knew would make him groan loudly. “I knew you couldn't resist it."

He makes a sound that makes her want him even more. _“Selina,_ I—”

A short sound goes off, and both their heads turn to the nightstand, where Bruce’s phone lights up. The arousal in the air leaves quickly as he sighs, frustrated at himself, among other things.

“You should get that,” she says, combing her nails gently through his hair.

“I know,” he murmurs.

Untangling herself from her, he reaches over to get his phone, and once he reads the alert, he lets a breath go, puts it back, and stands up to get his shirt on the bedroom floor.

“What is it?” she asks him as he only secures the last two buttons from the bottom.

“The drive I was busy decrypting is done being processed,” he replies. “It should take the computer only a short while before it eradicates all hacking mechanisms.”

She nods. “Hope you don’t mind if I make myself comfortable on your nice, soft bed tonight, then.”

“Not at all.”

None of them move, as if they’re waiting for something, a feeling or a presence in the darkness that would incite anything to happen, but it isn’t dread rotting inside either of them. It’s a stranger, sadder kind of fear. Then she stands slowly, stopping before him, just to take his face in her hand; he doesn’t protest when she kisses him, devouring him with a lazy passion that borders on chaste.

“Bruce,” she says, voice hushed. “I need to be honest with you.”

He nods again, his face so close to hers that any breath they take is shared.

“I don’t ever want you to feel that what you do,” she sighs, “what this war makes you do, is nothing. I know you’ve met people who say it’s a waste of time, but I don’t, okay? I know I’m second priority.”

Bruce half-lidded eyes blink, and he holds her, hands resting on her hips. “Look at me.”

She looks up to meet him, he falls in love, and he swears that there would be no other woman who would understand him just as much as she would.

“You’ll always be just as important as this fight is to me,” he says intently, sincerely. “I never want you to feel like you’re second priority. I made the mistake…of making Jason feel like he was second priority, and I…I can’t make anyone feel like that again. Especially when I care about them as much as I cared about him, like I care about you.”

She smiles sadly. “Bruce, you don't have t—”

“I love you, Cat.”

Those green eyes have never looked more pleased, more beautiful. His words bring back the light in her soft laughter and make his heart flutter even more. “Mmm, I should’ve expected that having the Batman as my boyfriend again would only get much more complicated. I love you too, Bat.”

Something close to a chuckle leaves him, and he kisses her, again and again, and its as if neither of them want to part.

“You should go get that decrypted data,” she says once they do, after what seems like an eternity.

“That can wait,” he whispers back, and he kisses her again.

That night, they don’t have sex, but they sleep together, in every sense of that phrase, huddled up in each other’s warmth and Bruce’s fluffy blankets long before the morning light even finds them.


End file.
